The Rose

I was out working with "my" roses this morning. I didn't plant them, I don't own them, but I've nurtured them all summer and have received great compliments from my landlord and his wife that they look the best they've looked in years. I find it very healing to be out in nature as much as possible in the aftermath of the hell of my own making. As I was working with them, I thought, naturally, of "The Rose"

Some say love it is a river that drowns the tender reed

Some say love it is a razer that leaves your soul to blead

Some say love it is a hunger an endless aching need

I say love it is a flower and you it's only seed

It's the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance

It's the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance

It's the one who won't be taken who cannot seem to give

and the soul afraid of dyingthat never learns to live

When the night has been too lonely and the road has been too long and you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong

Just remember

in the winter

far beneath the bitter snows

lies the seed that with the sun's love in the spring becomes the rose